


Witness me old man, I am The Wild

by DustyCrow



Category: Supernatural, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Witchers (The Witcher), Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Alternate Universe - The Witcher Fusion, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Inspired by The Witcher, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Supernatural Elements, The Witcher Lore, The Witcher/Supernatural Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyCrow/pseuds/DustyCrow
Summary: In a world where Witchers have become outdated by Hunters, Geralt thinks nothing can surprise him anymore.That is, until he comes across a familiar face during a hunt gone wrong, a face he thought he'd seen the last of centuries ago.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 14
Kudos: 88





	1. The History of Witchers

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So welcome to my mashup of Witcher and Supernatural. My two favourite shows!  
> It's gonna be Witcher centred, with the odd toe-dip into the SPN-verse (characters may appear, monsters will definitely appear etc)  
> Lore regarding Witchers and monsters will be taken from all sources, including books, games and the recent show.  
> This is an ongoing project, it will include long breaks between updates (readers of my other fics probably already expect this...sorry) but I will always keep the updates coming.  
> As always, please feel free to drop your thoughts into the comments, good and bad.  
> And I hope you enjoy the journey!
> 
> Oh just a warning, there will most definitely be smut in the future ;) tags will be added when appropriate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So welcome to my mashup of Witcher and Supernatural. My two favourite shows!  
> It's gonna be Witcher centred, with the odd toe-dip into the SPN-verse (characters may appear, monsters will definitely appear etc)  
> Lore regarding Witchers and monsters will be taken from all sources, including books, games and the recent show.  
> This is an ongoing project, it will include long breaks between updates (readers of my other fics probably already expect this...sorry) but I will always keep the updates coming.  
> As always, please feel free to drop your thoughts into the comments, good and bad.  
> And I hope you enjoy the journey!
> 
> Oh just a warning, there will most definitely be smut in the future ;) tags will be added when appropriate

Long ago, when monsters were plentiful and humans fearful, Witchers were created. Young boys taken or freely given to the Order of Witchers, where they underwent rigorous training, and terrible mutations, known as the Trials. The survival rate was low, claiming 7 boys in 10, usually more, rarely less. If a boy survived the Trials, he earned his medallion, identifying him as a Witcher, and was sent out on the Path. Few survived their first year.

The mutations changed the boys' bodies, making them stronger, resilient to most poisons, aging slowed. They were also granted access to rudimentary magics, Signs, as they were called. They were given gifts that would help them survive the Path, but were branded outcast, _freak_ , because of these gifts. They were also taught how to craft potions, oils and bombs, and were trained in the art of combat, using silver coated swords made from star-metal. A second sword was also given, a steel sword, because some monsters were also men. 

Overtime, the Order disbanded and reformed into 'Schools', training grounds that specialised in techniques and mutations, and a Witcher's medallion changed to show which School he hailed from. There were 7 Schools; School of the Crane, School of the Manticore, School of the Viper, School of the Bear, School of Griffin, School of the Cat, and School of the Wolf. 

These 'mutants' were all that stood between mortals and monsters, the barrier that held back a destructive tide ready to wipe out humankind. However, though they were saviours of men, they were often treated worse than diseased rats. Shunned from most towns and villages, and rarely welcome even when their services were required, Witchers learned not to expect hospitality, generosity or even basic kindness. Instead they took their pay and moved on, always travelling the Path in search of monsters to slay, for a price. 

Over time, as monster populations began to dwindle, the Schools and Witchers faded into history or were destroyed by it falling prey to persecution. Man turned on the Schools, ransacking them and butchering any who did not escape, fearful of that which is different. Those that survived lived the remainder of their days on the Path, waiting for the day a monster would gut them, or a peasant with a pitch-fork would stab them in the back. 

Only one School is known to have avoided total annihilation, the School of the Wolf. 

As more and more Witcher lives were claimed by the ravages of time or claws, more and more humans started taking up the mantle of monster killers, becoming known as Hunters. They were undisciplined, untrained, but they were many, and with the help of Witchers, they learned what they needed to in order to kill that which prowled in the darkness. 

Taking the Witcher's weapons and modifying them, the Hunters took up the mantle of monster killers and so Witchers became a rare sight in modern times. Rarely involving themselves unless faced with an ancient evil, one that hadn't been seen in millennia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, side note:  
> The title for this fic is taken from the song The Horror and The Wild, by The Amazing Devil.  
> In fact, a lot of the chapters will be named based on their songs. If you haven't already listened to them, what are you still doing reading this?? GO!


	2. Into Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to my lovely new Beta reader, [ Toss_a_coin_to_your_daddy ](/users/%5BToss_a_coin_to_your_daddy%5D/)
> 
> As usual, I appreciate any and all comments and Kudos.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The call had awoken Geralt from a fitful sleep. A glance at his phone showed it was a little after 4am. The time wasn’t unusual, Kaer Morhen is around an hour ahead of the UK, and Vesemir is an early riser. But the fact it was a call and not a text was definitely unusual. Vesemir would usually send coordinates and maybe a description of what he wanted Geralt to take care of, knowing he'd get on it as soon as possible. 

But Vesemir’s brisk tone and clipped words allowed for no questions, no response other than yes, sir. _Monster, London, attacking civilians. Get there now!_

Luckily Geralt hadn’t even bothered unpacking his motorcycle when he’d checked into the Travelodge. He’d been too worn out to care about anything other than having a soft mattress beneath him, rather than a bedroll. His lack of foresight saved him vital minutes now, even if it had risked his supplies and weapons being stolen. Dashing along the twisting corridors and then leaping down the stairs, Geralt barely paused to leave the key card with the check-in assistant at the front desk. 

Swinging a denim clad leg over his bike, he puts the key into the ignition and turns, smiling at the roar of the engine. He covers his eyes with goggles, zips up his leather jacket and kicks up the stand, revving the engine as he pulls away from the pavement, and roars off into the night. 

His jacket barely keeps out the chill of the wind. Winter is fast approaching, and soon he’ll be heading overseas to spend time with his family, the last remaining wolves of Kaer Morhen.

With his silvery-white hair streaming behind him in a ponytail, pale skin and black clothing, Geralt resembles the horseman of Death, rather than a Witcher. 

These days, Witchers are only called upon in special circumstances. Usually it's down to one of two reasons; the first is when a Witcher is nearby and Hunters want some experienced backup, the second is when Hunters come up against something they've never seen before except in the old texts. Days like today. Hunters may be aware of what's really out there, and appreciate a Witcher's knowledge and experience, but they're still human, and as humans they still resent that which is different. Tolerance is the most a Witcher can expect from a Hunter. 

Geralt had been travelling along country roads and through small villages for the last few months. Enjoying the change of scenery in England, but not the near constant rain. British summers, indeed. No wonder his brothers never seemed to stay long. 

He had been making his way west, after visiting the white cliffs of Dover, passing through Maidstone when the need to sleep had overtaken his love of being on the road. Before Vesemir’s call. Even breaking all the speed limits, it would still take at least half an hour to get to London, and that's without rush hour traffic. 

The sound of his phone ringing barely registers through the roar of his motorcycle’s engine. He taps the Bluetooth device in his ear to answer the call, “Vesemir” He all but shouts over the wind.  
“ _New information has come in, Geralt. Hunters had it cornered, but it killed 2 and escaped. Its moved underground and is making its way along the tunnels. I can give you a better idea of where when you’re in the city._ ”  
“Any idea of what it is? Hunters can usually take care of themselves, especially a group.”  
“ _Unclear at the moment, but I think it’s a Fiend. No clue as to how it got into the capital without being noticed._ ”  
“Shit, thought they'd gone extinct. Haven’t seen a Fiend since before-“  
“ _I know, I thought so too, but the description fits. Just get there and take care of this, quickly. Do you have everything you need?_ ”  
“Yes, just about. I’ll need to restock after, in case anything else rises from oblivion before winter.”  
Vesemir chuckles over the line, “ _Well there’s a safe house on the outskirts of London, I’ll send you the details later. Call me when it’s done_.” And with that the line cuts off. 

Geralt’s mind races faster than his speeding bike. _A Fiend. Shit. Haven't seen one of those since...well since before the Purge. Before it all went to shit._ If it wasn't for the fact that people have been killed, Geralt would be feeling excited right now. His shoulders are hunched, against the wind he tells himself; his breathing picking up because of his dash from the hotel, he tells himself. Not because he's worried...not because he's _afraid_.

No, anything resembling fear was mutated and beaten out of him centuries ago...he tells himself. Shaking his head, Geralt puts his head down and concentrates on the roads. The twists and turns can be dangerous in the dark, and he hasn't taken Cat.

When he's approaching Tower Bridge road, his earpiece trills again. He's barely pressed the button to answer the call when Vesemir's voice is all but shouting at him, " _Oxford Circus, get there then head west along Bond street, follow the screams._ " The call cuts off again, no time for pleasantries, not when there're lives at stake. Having Vesemir keeping track of his brothers and himself using an app in their phones had been irksome at first, but they all agreed it made it easier to know who was where in case they were needed. 

Weaving in and out of the increasing traffic, Geralt focuses on not hitting a pedestrian, or getting hit by one of the many black cabs and red buses. Within minutes he's pulling up to the path outside the tube entrance at Oxford Circus. He opens a custom side compartment on his bike, pulling his sheathed silver sword out. Quickly pulling the sword belt over his head to sit across his chest, he then grabs two of his potions, Cat and Tawny Owl and a Samum bomb. Not ideal for underground, but better to be prepared. 

He dashes through the doors and down the stairs, dodging the early commuters already making their way to and from work. He gets to the station and takes a moment to centre himself, regretting the lack of sleep. Turning west, he faces the gaping dark of the empty tunnel. He downs the two potions he brought, his vision sharpening and the lights becoming painful to his golden eyes. His muscles thrum with energy, the limited magic he has access to tingling through his fingertips. 

Shouts from the few passengers on the platform follow him as he drops down to the tracks, avoiding the metal he runs into the dark, listening out for any tell-tale noise of a monster attack. He's nearly at Bond Street station when he notices a side door, shouts and roars coming from the other side. Cursing at what will be a tight space for wielding his sword, he blasts the door off its hinges using Aard and steps over the wreckage, following the corridor...and the screams.


	3. And the creature creeps inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter specific warnings at the end.
> 
> With thanks to my beta,   
> [ Toss_a_coin_to_your_daddy ](/users/%5BToss_a_coin_to_your_daddy%5D/)

_Fuck._ It's a Fiend alright, ancient, and extremely _pissed off_. What it's doing in the middle of a city is anyone's guess. But right now Geralt is more concerned with it trying to gore him with its antlers, as it swings it's massive head side to side, roaring at any who stray too close.

There're Hunters still standing, trying to duck between the Fiend's attacks to grab their partner, who’s currently being crushed beneath one of the Fiends paws. Geralt's entrance had distracted the monster for barely a second, not long enough for the humans to grab their fellow man and run. There are also three corpses in the room. At least Geralt thinks there's three. Hard to tell when what could be a third or even a fourth is in pieces. Blood and viscera decorating the walls like a sick renaissance painting.

Geralt can't spare a glance at the man beneath the monster, who's now still and silent. Instead he takes a quick look at the room he's in. It's small, or rather it's big but feels small due to the Fiend filling the space, leaving barely a couple metres of manoeuvrability around it. A dull light is filtering down from a manhole cover high above, and large glow sticks are scattered around the room, tainting everything with a sickly green.

For a moment Geralt ponders how no one on the surface has heard the Fiend's roars, but when the next train goes past a second later, he realises the room echoes the rumble and screech, so like a Fiend's cry that it masks it. Geralt focuses, pulling out his silver sword even though the close quarters will make it near impossible to wield.

Another train screeches past, and the Fiend screams with it, shaking its head. _Of course, the noise is too much for a creature used to no more than a sighing breeze through the trees._ Using the distraction, Geralt runs forward, throwing Aard at the beast's enormous clawed paw still crushing the fallen Hunter. It does nothing, the Fiend barely flinches, and instead turns its head towards him, focusing its third eye on Geralt, attempting to hypnotise him. It does nothing, the Cat he drank earlier counteracts the monster's ability. Geralt launches himself into the air, reaching out to grab the thick fur on the Fiend's back, narrowly avoiding his stomach being clawed as the beast twists and steps back, releasing the still human. No time to throw up a Quen shield.

The Hunters still standing immediately dive in and grab their friend, pulling him away, but hesitate at the corridor, "Go!" Geralt shouts, as he tries to keep his balance where he's stood on the Fiend's hunched back, gripping its mane in one hand, his other slashing at the beast's neck. The Hunters don't hesitate a second time. They know when they're outgunned. The sound of their footsteps and curses echo along the corridor, fading until the only thing Geralt can hear is his breath panting along with the Fiend's.

The monster rears as Geralt cuts at its neck again, "How do you like that silver?" he snarls. The cuts aren't particularly deep, but they’ll sting, and it's pissed already. Shaking its body, Geralt loses his footing and slips off the Fiend's back, barely holding onto its mane. The monster reaches one claw back and manages to grab hold of Geralt's leg. It pulls him free of its mane and hurls him across the room. The Witcher slams into a wall and falls to the floor. Nothing broken, but he might have a cracked rib or three, and he's lost his sword somewhere. Looking around he spots it lying below the Fiends paws. Great. Not like the Fiend is _really_ fucked off now...

Geralt stands and uses the wall to push himself forward, wincing as pain shoots through his bruised shoulder. He darts and ducks under the Fiend's open mouth, its claws coming up to tear him apart, as Geralt throws a different Sign at the beast's face. _Igni_.

The smell of charred flesh is sickening, the scream the monster lets out is worse. It rears up swatting at its burning jaw, as Geralt slides under its broad chest, grabbing his sword. He stands up on the other side of the creature, dodging the wildly swinging tail as the Fiend shakes and twists and turns.

Geralt freezes as the beast turns toward him, its eyes pinning him in its gaze. He can count on one hand the number of times he's seen pure, seething hatred in a creature's eyes. The Fiend's face is covered in raw, burned flesh, one eye is swollen shut, blood trickles from its mouth and nose. It charges.

Geralt leaps back and finds himself in front of the corridor. It's not quite small enough to omit entry to the Fiend, but it's enough to slow it down. His options are running out, the conditions are so far from ideal it's practically suicide. But if he doesn't stop this monster here, now, many more people could, and will, lose their lives. Innocents. He's not about to let that happen.

Taking one step back at a time, Geralt watches the Fiend for any sign of it gearing up to pounce, but for now the creature is wary, cautious, and in no rush to be scorched again. Geralt sends up a silent prayer to any gods that are still listening, as he pulls the Samum bomb from a pouch at his hip. He pulls the cap off the fuse, slowly, watching the beast for any reaction. It continues to stalk slowly down the corridor after him, its breathing ragged and laboured in the echoing darkness.

Geralt's foot nudges against some debris, what's left of the door. He feels the slight breeze coming from the tunnel at his back, chilling the sweat on his heated skin. He lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding, and throws the bomb back into the corridor, followed by a small blast of Igni to light the fuse. The Fiend screams at the fire, trying to back away but getting its antlers caught on some pipes, trapping it as the bomb rolls toward it.

Geralt turns and runs, runs out into the tunnel, runs away from the screaming, roaring, _terrifying_ monster behind him. But he's not afraid, Witchers don't feel fear.

He gets a dozen feet further before he's pushed forward onto his face. The sound barely registers as an immense heat pulses through the tunnel. The vibrations rumbling through his body, at first from the explosion, and then from the corridor collapsing. Everything is eerily quiet he thinks, until he reaches up and touches his ear, his fingers coming away with blood. _Ah, ears are blown. Fuck._

He looks back at the wreckage he's wrought, one eye closed against blood trickling down from a narrow cut on his brow, the rubble still falling and settling. One giant clawed paw twitches from beneath the stone and cement, then stills. Usually a Witcher would set to work harvesting parts from a kill, but Geralt is in no shape, or mood, to be shifting blocks of concrete. He turns and heads toward Bond Street station, needing to get above ground and breath fresh air. He picks up his sword he hadn't realised he'd dropped again, Vesemir would tan his hide if he knew, and sheathes it at his back, limping towards the literal light at the end of the tunnel.

He's nearly at the station, already looking forward to getting to the safe house Vesemir mentioned, which hopefully has a bath. But Geralt doesn't hear the rubble behind him shift, doesn't hear the building growl as the Fiend rises, it's right antler snapped in half, a hind leg broken and hanging at an awkward angle, doesn't differentiate the moist breath at his back from the dank air of the tunnel, until hot blood from the monster drips onto his right shoulder like a scene out of a horror movie. Until it's too late.

Before he can fully understand what the blood on his shoulder means, a sharp, ripping pain draws his attention to his left shoulder. Looking down he sees two antler tines poking through his upper chest and arm. Before he can move to grab his sword, he's thrown like a rag doll before the platform. Civilians gawp at him as he lands, having already crowded the edge of the platform when they heard the explosion. Then they scream as the Fiend moves into the fluorescent lights, and it roars back. It roars with the pain of being taken from its home, of being trapped in this dark and noisy world, of being attacked when it was afraid. It roars, and moves past Geralt's prone form, moving onto the platform, reaching out towards a lone man holding a guitar, a busker trying to earn some coin.

Geralt can feel his blood oozing out of his wound, his cracked ribs now broken, but he doesn't let it stop him from standing up. He stumbles over the still live tracks and hits the edge of the platform, grunting at the pain in his shoulder. He regrets not bringing Swallow with him, but his supply is dangerously low and he didn't want to risk losing it in the fight. Smart move considering how much he's been thrown about, but he could really do with a dose now, to speed up his healing and numb the pain.

Geralt pulls his upper body onto the platform, swings a leg up and rolls on his good side. He stares up at the curved ceiling, breathing through the throbbing in his side and shoulder, wasting precious seconds. He glances at the lone man, caught in the Fiend's gaze, noting a slim body, brunette hair, waistcoat over a long sleeved shirt and slim cut jeans. The human has lifted his guitar up by the neck, holding it like a club, as though it could do anything against the monster.

The Fiend's movements are jerky as it awkwardly hops towards the man, a low growl reverberating in its chest. It leaves behind pools of sticky red-black blood.

Pulling himself up to his feet, Geralt unsheathes his sword and staggers towards the beast. "Hey!" He shouts. The Fiend turns towards him, until its undamaged eyes settle on his face. The monster is even more gruesome now, with its burned face, broken antler, bloody trickling from various cuts. "Damn, you're ugly." Geralt says, grimacing as he takes up a fighting stance, both hands on his sword, holding it out in front of him. The beast roars its defiance and charges at the Witcher.

Geralt side-steps and cuts at the monster's leg, feeling the blade slice through muscle and tendon with ease. It's enough to slow the beast down, but not stop it from falling off the edge of the platform. Geralt takes the spare moment and turns to the human with the guitar, pausing as the face almost seems familiar. Hard to say through the blood blurring his vision. "Get out of here, now!" He yells, turning back to the beast without checking to see if the human does what he's told.

He must present a fearsome sight. His leather jacket covered in gore and dust, his skin pale, veins and eye black, a bloodied sword in his hand.

He focuses on the Fiend once more, watching as it struggles to climb back onto the platform. As it places its front paw onto the platform, it's jaw open and panting, Geralt lurches towards it, narrowly avoiding its antlers as it swings its head around, trying to gore him again. Planting his feet in a wide stance, Geralt lifts his sword with both hands, blade pointing down, and plunges it into the Fiend's neck, just behind the skull.

The beast screams again, roaring in agony. It swings its head, knocking Geralt off his feet, but this time he keeps his death-grip on his sword, using his weight to pull the blade down, tearing through fur and taught muscles, until he's on his back beneath the creature's throat. Hot, black blood pouring from the yawning wound, coating Geralt's arms, chest and face. Spitting out a glob that got into his mouth, he curses at the beast, "Shit, you stink" as he yanks the sword down further until the hilt is above his chest, then plunges it up to cut through the Fiend's spine. The monster's final breath rattles through its severed windpipe as it falls still, nearly pinning Geralt below it.

Geralt is pulling himself out from under the slain beast, struggling with one good arm when he notices the sound of steps coming towards him. _Hearing is coming back_ , he thinks as he turns to look at the intruder, and realises it's the human, still carrying his guitar like he's going to hit the felled creature if it so much as twitches. "Fuck off, bard. This is no place for you..." Geralt growls out, struggling to remain conscious now that the battle is done.

"Geralt...?" A tentative voice replies, a familiar voice, a voice always ready to burst into song, a voice he's not heard for nearly a millennium, a voice he should have never heard again.

Geralt turns to look at the human properly, wiping blood from his eyes he tries to focus on the face above him. Brown hair, strong jaw, and his eyes, those piercing blue eyes like the ocean... "Jas-Jaskier?" he murmurs as his vision swims, his head falling back to hit the cool tile beneath. Just as darkness is about to consume him, he hears one word that sums up his thoughts entirely.

" _Fuck_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Descriptions of blood, gore, wounds, all battle type things. 
> 
> As always, please let me know your thoughts and feelings in the comments, and/or hit the Kudos button :)


End file.
